


Only in fantasy

by Anonymous



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Dutch is very mean towards Molly, F/M, M/M, Molly deserves better than this, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Pining, Referenced Dutch Van der linde/Hosea Matthews, Sexual Fantasy, Short One Shot, Unrequited Love, Vaginal Sex, Violent Thoughts, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:14:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25320724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Nothing about Molly feels right, but she had never been the one Dutch wanted in the first place.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde, Molly O'Shea/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 2
Kudos: 52
Collections: anonymous





	Only in fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> this was for a prompt: unrequited vandermorgan  
> i am sorry in advance but I hope you like it, prompter

Molly is beautiful. That’s what he heard the other’s say. He could even see it sometimes when he really tried. Most of the time he doesn’t bother, though, finding the mere sight of her these days far too annoying. 

Everything about her was annoying, her whole being _wrong_. 

It becomes even more apparent now, pushing into her as she moans, her noises thankfully drowned out by the singing from the campfire and the strumming of Javier’s guitar. 

She’s too soft, too curvy and too needy. 

Too smooth, as she insisted on shaving, a vanity he didn’t understand. Vain, that was all she was, vain. 

At least Annabelle had felt right with her coarse hair, every part of her body covered in it, it made it easy for him to close his eyes and pretend it was someone else. Her body had been toned, _strong,_ from years of work. 

And she had liked it rough, just as he imagined _he_ would. 

His boy. 

The mere thought of him brings out so much shame in him, that he has spent seventeen years lusting after the man he called son. It _disgusts_ him, thinking about how often he had taken that face and morphed it onto lovers and whores alike, or about all the times he throughout the years had taken his manhood in his hands with his son on his mind. 

It was Arthur's fault he needed release tonight, and all just for smiling so sweetly at him, face illuminated by the fire, all tension had been erased from his face just after some bottles of beer. 

It was a long time ago he had seen him smile like that, far too long. If the boy’s presence didn’t bother him so much, he would have let him rest more. Instead, he had to send him away on every job and for every chore just because he was so weak, so wretched that he let his urges control him and tarnish the other kind of love he once felt for his son. 

He thinks of Arthur when he lets his fingers tease Molly’s nipples, he wouldn’t whimper as she does, at most he would gasp, or so he thinks. 

He would never get the chance to find out how he would truly sound. 

He buries his head in the crook of Molly’s neck, feels her chin against his forehead and even that feels wrong, but he can, when he tries, feel a phantom of stubble when he tries to remember that time ten years ago with Hosea, who had been far too drunk for his liking, and Dutch himself had been far too sober to not feel guilty about it afterward. 

His boy, who always had been at his side, the only one who never had tried to leave him no matter how many times he had tried to push him away. And he had tried, thinking that perhaps spending too much time with the boy had been the reason his mind was warped. 

Nothing could extinguish it, though, the desire he felt for the other man, the years only seemed to fuel the flames. 

He _always_ thinks of him, even now with Molly underneath him, moaning like a bitch in heat, far too high pitched for him to enjoy the sounds. He considers, very briefly, to wrap his hands around her neck and choke her until she stopped being so annoying, always nagging him outside of the bed and even now trying to ruin the moment just with her voice. 

Instead, he tries to focus on all the other sounds. The gentle breeze outside the tent, the bark of Cain, no doubt begging for some more scraps of meat. And he hears Arthur singing with the others, his voice so easy to pick out in a crowd. 

He thinks of Arthur on his knees, his pretty lips, far too pretty for a man to have, stretched around his cock. 

Arthur on his stomach, face pressed into a mattress and fucked so hard he would limp for days. 

Arthur asleep next to him, looking content and happy and relaxed in a way he never had seen, and never would get to see. 

Perhaps it’s the bourbon he drunk earlier, perhaps it always was doomed to come out sooner or later, as all secrets do. He comes inside of her, far too into the fantasy to care about pulling out, and far too gone to stop the name that escapes from his lips. 

“ _Arthur_.” 


End file.
